Reunion
by enigma939
Summary: His memory restored, David seeks closure in one last meeting with Nicky. Post-Ultimatum
1. Chapter 1: En Route

**Reunion**

**A/N: **It occurred to me that in all my Bourne fanfics, I've never really touched upon the ambiguous Bourne/Nicky relationship. So here's my take on it.

David Webb walked into the park cautiously, even as a part of him was scanning his environs, looking out for any potential assailants. He may no longer be Jason Bourne, but for better or for worse, he was still a part of Bourne's shadow world and it would be folly to ignore the instincts Treadstone had ingrained in him so deeply.

Having ascertained that there was no one in the immediate surroundings who posed a threat, he made his way to the rendezvous point. Pamela Landy was there, as she promised she would be, holding a blue manila envelope in his hands.

"Good to see you again, David", she said with a brief smile, and yet the expression on her face conveyed the fact that she had little time for idle chit-chat. David was only too glad to oblige by getting to the point. "You've found her?" he asked. Landy sighed, "Actually, to be more accurate, _they _did".

David felt the panic and anxiety swell up in his chest, but he controlled his tone when he asked, "But how? She was completely off the grid...at least, that's what I told her to do". "Well, she wasn't you, David", Landy said with a sad smile. "Fortunately, at the moment she is relatively safe, but chances are she won't be for long. They zeroed in on her in Marseilles about a week ago. The Blackbriar unit we neutralised in Geneva was one of the few we knew of that was still functioning, though there are possibly others. In any case, they had a list of targets to be eliminated, a list issued by Vosen just hours before his arrest. So far as we can guess, there hasn't been any movement on any of their missions. We can assume they're probably lying low for a bit, waiting till the heat dies down on the scandal here at home. But we found out about at least three assets who are currently positioned close to where she is and who might, at any moment be assigned to eliminate her. The details are in the envelope", she added, handing it over to him.

David, taking the envelope after a moment's hesitation, asked, "Why can't you'll just pull her out of there?" "Because I can't really risk doing anything overseas with the people I've got, not when a life is at stake. Who knows where the rot ends? Who knows how many people, even in my investigation team, are on Blackbriar's payroll? I just can't take any risks. Besides, let's face it", Landy added, "If anyone has a chance of dealing with those men, it's you".

David couldn't honestly disagree with her. Once more, as it so often had recently, the vivid image of Desh's blood-soaked body lying in a bathroom in Tangiers came to mind. Yes, Landy was right. If anyone had a chance of saving her again from a situation like that, it was him. Or at any rate, the man he had been.

"I'll take care of it", he said to Landy and nodded. "But I just want to know...when I find her, do I bring her back?"

Landy remained silent for a few moments and said, "That...would be nice. Though of course, given the risks involved, it would have to be her choice and her choice alone. That said, we do need a willing witness who was on the inside in the upcoming hearings"

"I'll try to convince her. I owe you that much", said David. "You owe me nothing, David", said Landy. "I'm just doing my job. If you owe anyone anything, it's her".

"Yeah", David said, thinking to himself that if there was indeed anyone he owed anything to at this moment, it was Nicky Parsons.

After his ten-storey plunge into the East River, David Webb was officially declared missing presumed dead, though nearly everyone involved in making that decision knew, or at least felt, differently. This was hardly surprising, considering they were talking about a man who had cheated death far too often before.

David, understandably, decided to lie low. He'd been on the move since the day Marie was gunned down in India and he needed time to recuperate. So he rented an apartment in a slightly less conspicuous part of Washington DC and spent his days contemplating not the future, but the past.

The answers were all there now, the one's he'd been looking for since the day he'd woken up on that boat in the Mediterranean a lifetime ago. His encounter with Hirsch had served as a catalyst, unlocking the secrets of his mind, his memory. And yet, the sense of closure, of completeness, he had long yearned for...he had perhaps not achieved. True, he remembered David's Webb's life, bore David Webb's name and possessed David Webb's identity once more, and yet 'David Webb' seemed at times to be even more of an enigma than Jason Bourne had been initially. Webb seemed almost to be a lost appendage sewn back to his arm hastily; one which he was able to use, but with which he did not feel any real connect. He supposed, although the answer did not particularly appeal to him, that the reason was simply that David Webb was beyond repair, after all he'd been through. Irrevocably damaged by Hirsch's mind games, and forever destroyed by a crisis of conscience, the bullets of Wombosi's bodyguard, and the depths of the Mediterranean Sea. It was an answer that scared him on some level, terrified him even, because it meant that despite all his efforts to the contrary, he still lacked an identity. True, he had embraced the Bourne identity in order to survive, but he had relinquished it at long last in favour of David Webb. In favour of a man who probably did not exist anymore, except in flesh. Which, in essence, made him...a nobody.

It was during these dark bouts of brooding that he sought to divert his thoughts to someone else, someone who was inextricably tied to his past, both distant and recent. Nicky Parsons. Since the day she'd uttered those enigmatic words at the cafe in Madrid, he had been desperate to know what she had meant. What _had_ they meant to each other? Were they possibly more than handler and agent? He had been bursting with questions, but he had restrained himself. They were on the run, the present was dire enough...there was no need to dwell on the past. And yet, now, he remembered everything about her, about how things had been between them...and it wasn't exactly what he'd expected. And weeks of contemplation led him to the conclusion that it simply wasn't enough for him to know...in order to truly seek closure in the matter of _that _particular relationship, he would have to meet her face to face. And now he had a chance to do that. Unless _they _got to her first.

It was the walk that had given the asset away.

David had arrived in Marseilles late afternoon, flying in on the new US passport Landy had given him. At the arrival gate, as he'd been previously alerted, a man unobtrusively dropped car-keys in his coat pocket as he brushed past him. The Chevrolet it belonged to contained a Glock pistol in its glove compartment, as well as a list of 'safe' hotels and boarding facilities. Having installed himself in just one such location, David set off on his way to meet Nicky. Along the way, he passed the waterfront and couldn't help stare out for a few minutes into the vast expanse of the Mediterranean Sea, the body of water which had arguably made him what he was today. What that was, or rather, _who _that was, he didn't know.

The sights and sounds of Marseilles were familiar to him and brought to mind recently restored memories of the ill-fated Wombosi op, when he, as 'John Michael Kane', had prowled these very streets, preparing for a mission he would never complete. As he was lost in thoughts of the past, his mind snapped back to the present when he his eyes picked out something oddly familiar from the crowd in front of him.

The way the man moved, with a fluidity that belied the immense concentration and premeditation that preceded every infinitesimal move, was the first sign. Webb was familiar with that walk; Jason Bourne had moved similarly back in the day. The stone-cold expression on the glimpse he had caught of the man's sunburnt face was the second clue. And when Webb, following the man unobtrusively, got a good look at his face, all his suspicions were confirmed. This _was_ the asset, one of the three whose photograph and details were in the intel Landy had given him. This one's code name was Rocke, the asset who had been stationed in Greece until that unit had been compromised by the papers Landy had brought before the Senate. David did not for a moment doubt what this man's purpose here, in Marseilles, was.

He knew he had to get to the man and neutralise him _fast_.

So he followed the man and found the apartment he had rented. It just so happened that Rocke's apartment was just across the street from where Landy's intel said Nicky was. David did not believe in coincidences of this kind. He made his way to the door of the man's apartment stealthily. He picked the lock using a device he'd purchased from the black market upon his arrival in the city and crept in silently, his gun out. He had mentally resolved not to kill, except as a last resort, but just to neutralise the asset non-lethally, perhaps even reason with him as he had done with the one he'd met on the rooftop of SRD.

Unfortunately for Webb, Rocke had seen him coming, had noticed the former Treadstone operative following him, and had laid a trap for him. The baseball bat lashed out at Webb's gun hand, knocking the weapon away. It took but an instant for the adrenaline to rush into Jason Bourne's brain. Bourne retreated his right hand and lashed out with his leg, striking Rocke in his stomach. He followed on relentlessly with a similar barrage of attacks, using his arms and legs as weapons, trying to inflict the maximum possible damage and pain on his opponent. For his part, Rocke proved to be exceptionally well-trained in close quarters combat himself.

The two men fought for over five minutes, like gladiators in the Colosseum that was Rocke's small apartment, which soon turned to rubble, with broken glass and plaster falling everywhere. The baseball bat had fallen to the ground, when Bourne had dislocated Rocke's shoulder in one violent move, but Rocke had slammed the side of Bourne's head with a powerful blow, had strangled him for a few moments during which Bourne nearly passed out. and pushed him against the wall, pinning him with his legs, while he reached for a knife from his belt, with which to slit his enemy's throat. Bourne however, using breathing exercises he had long ago mastered during the now-remembered days of his training, had reoriented himself to an extent and decided that now was the time to retreat to his last resort. Even as Rocke's knife slid slowly towards his throat, Bourne grabbed either side of Rocke's head and twisted it in one powerful move that broke the asset's neck even as his arm short forward with momentum. Bourne had ducked as the dead man's knife struck the part of the wall against which he'd been moments ago, and he kicked the corpse of him.

He panted for a while, gathering his senses once more. True, he had been out of the field for a while, and yet he was astounded by how swiftly the Bourne identity had re-asserted itself, as though it had never gone. Jason methodically scanned every inch of the apartment, discovering a secret stash of weapons, money and passports. What interested him the most was a file containing information on Nicky Parsons, who was to have been Rocke's latest victim, as he had suspected. Bourne burnt the file using a cigarette lighter he always carried with him; then cleaned up all the blood and gore, stuffed the body away in a closet, cleaned himself in the bathroom and changed into some of the dead man's clothes he'd found in a wardrobe. Giving himself cursory treatment with a first aid box he'd found in the closet where Rocke now lay, he walked out of the apartment, careful not to be seen by anyone, into the Marseilles sunset.

His task was accomplished. He had saved Nicky from certain death yet again. Now , all he had left to do was to find her and gain at least a shred of the closure he had long desired.


	2. Chapter 2: Reunion

**Reunion**

As he made his way to Nicky's apartment, David's thoughts, as they so often had in the last few weeks, drifted back into the past.

"_I have...headaches", he said, after some hesitation._

_They were in her apartment in Paris. A coffee table lay between them, with two steaming mugs of cappuccino. Nicky sat in the armchair opposite him, his psychiatric and operational dossiers on her lap, a calm expression of polite inquisitiveness on her face, as usual. And yet, he, who had been trained to perceive what most people couldn't, noticed that on some level, she could barely contain her feeling of triumph, of accomplishment...He couldn't blame her. She'd been wanting him to confide in her for nearly the entire year since she'd known him, but he had been as reticent as ever, although Conklin had told him he could trust her...was _supposed _to trust her._

"_What sort of headaches?" Nicky asked, navigating cautiously. Jason could sense the hidden apprehension in her voice...she was afraid that having opened up a little, he would suddenly clamp down again. But she needn't have worried. Despite his initial reservations, he had now grown to trust her in all the time they'd worked together, between missions._

"_Bad ones, sometimes. Especially when there are too many lights", he said, then paused and added, "I wouldn't have mentioned it, except that I can't handle it anymore. It's becoming a liability"._

"_Have you ever had these...headaches...in the field?" Nicky asked, concerned. _

"_No, they usually happen after the missions. In fact, they're the worst after the missions", he said._

"_Well...that _is _cause for concern", Nicky said contemplatively. Then, seeing the slightly concerned expression on his face, added with a brief smile, "Not for you though. I'll handle it. I just need to consult my medical database...I'll send around the required prescriptions to your apartment by tomorrow. In the meantime though, I do feel you're a bit over-worked lately. You are scheduled for another op in Prague in a couple of days, but I think I'll ask Conklin to re-assign it. You need some time off", she added. _

_That was true enough. Bourne had been on too many tough assignments lately. Being Treadstone's number one operative did have its disadvantages._

"_Call me if you have any other problems", Nicky said as she led him to the door._

_As he walked out, he turned around. "Nicky", he said to the retreating figure. She turned around, startled. He had rarely addressed her by name before, and not like this. _

"_Thanks", he added as she turned around._

_She smiled, surprised and yet in some way, pleased. "Any time, Jason"._

_And so it had begun, this strange relationship between the highly trained assassin and the woman assigned to help him cope with the psychological problems that almost inevitably result from being one. In time, their conversations became not as much about his missions as it was about him...his health, his life, his well-being. He never went to her apartment on anything other than 'official business', but he often stayed there for hours, longer than he used to, talking to her. Perhaps it wasn't so surprising. After all, she was one of the few constants in his life, if not the only one. The other people he interacted with were expendable sub-agents and point men, who changed with the locales, his targets, on the few occasions he'd had to make 'personal contact' prior to the execution, and Conklin, that distant taskmaster in Washington, whom he had met perhaps once or twice in person since that first assignment in Berlin. No, there was only Nicky._

_She for her part remained ironically enough, a bit reticent with him even as he opened up to her. He couldn't blame her for that. A part of her knew that he was a killer, no matter how many fancy terms like 'asset' and 'operative' she used as euphemisms to gloss over that fact, and as such, she understandably didn't want to get too close. He was like a Doberman, revved up to attack, and she the handler who was supposed to tame him when he was in the kennel and then guide him towards those he had to rip apart. While in the kennel, she had to ingratiate herself with him to an extent, in order to be safe around him, and perhaps it was inevitable that in the process the handler would get too close to the dog, but she could never truly let down her guard to him. That didn't mean she couldn't be nice to him though._

_What they had wasn't friendship. And it certainly was a far cry from anything even remotely romantic or sexual. She knew she was a tad too young for him anyway. No, the dog and handler analogy worked best to describe what they had, not that either of them ever discussed it._

_She did tell him once that of all the assets she he met, she knew him the best. But she never told him exactly what she knew, though he could guess. She knew, or at least feared, that a day would come when Conklin would push him too far, when he, in his commitment to 'saving American lives', would push _himself _too far. And then, the killer, the steely machine of death they had built inside him, would be let loose from the cage of self-discipline and psychological conditioning they had built. And if he was on the loose, then the only way they would be able to survive, would be to put him down...before he put them down. It was a horrifying prospect and one she did not wish to dwell upon, and yet it always lingered in the back of her mind. She never told him any of this in words, but there had been enough indicators that subtly pointed towards this in their conversations._

_And now, in retrospect, he could say that she had been right. He had been pushed too far, he had snapped, and he had hunted them even as they hunted him, a lethal killing machine without a memory roaming the streets of Paris, bringing collateral damage wherever he went. And when he saw her that night when he confronted Conklin, he saw only one of _them_; the conspirators who had used him and then plotted his death. And yet he left her unharmed...a part of him simply didn't want to hurt her. He didn't know why and didn't dwell upon it. But now he knew that a part of him, even then, had remembered. _

And now he remembered all. And he couldn't but help wonder how things would be between them now, given their less than pleasant recent history.

_Objectives and targets_, the part of his mind that was still occupied by the spectre of Jason Bourne, now and perhaps forevermore, reminded him. Nicky was the 'target', getting her back to the States, or at any rate out of danger, was the 'objective'. It was strange, David mused, the sense of solitude seeing the world and everything in it in black and white, as Jason Bourne did, imparted to the mind. But then again, it had been precisely the sort of mentality that had led him to become part of the program in the first place. It was precisely the mentality which motivated men like Alex Conklin, Ward Abbott and Noah Vosen to do what they did. For the first time, he fleetingly wondered what had motivated Nicky to enter the 'business' of death. Did she truly believe, as he once did, that she would be making a difference? That certainly seemed a valid possibility.

Lost in thought as he was, he barely noticed that he had arrived at the address Landy had given him. He paused for a few minutes uncertainly outside the door, steeling himself to ring the doorbell, something he'd ironically enough never have to do if he simply planned to break in. Jason Bourne's habits certainly died hard.

Finally, he decided he'd simply become too darn contemplative for his own good lately, and rang the goddamn doorbell.

For a few moments, the two stared at each other in the doorway. David wondered who was more unnerved by this encounter. Him or her. Him, possibly, given that he simply didn't know how to perceive her anymore.

She didn't look a lot different since he'd last seen her. Her hair, which she'd dyed black, was slowly returning to its natural blond. She'd lost a fair amount of weight and her eyes bore the signs of someone who hadn't slept much in weeks.

"Well, can I come in?" he asked, finally breaking the awkward silence.

"Sure", Nicky said, suddenly regaining her composure with a smile. She waited for him to get in, then closed the door. "Thank God you're safe. I knew you'd survived the fall, but I wasn't sure if you'd completely given them the slip or not".

"They think I'm dead. Or at any rate, they want everyone too. I don't know how long that's going to last though", David replied.

"I had a feeling they were catching up to me. Nearly passed out in panic when I thought recognised one of their point men at a station in Brussels", Nicky said, sitting down.

David briefly contemplated telling her about how her hunch had been right, and how close she actually had been to death. But then he decided against it. Considering that she was already suffering from sleepless nights, it would perhaps be best not to share such disturbing knowledge with her.

Instead he said calmly, "Don't worry, you're safe now".

"Yeah, I guess I am. With you", she said, looking into his hazel eyes. He stared back at her for a few minutes, pondering her words. Was she truly safe with him? Safe with someone who any moment now could once again be in the crosshairs of an assassin? The answer to that was a no-brainer of course. She was far safer in the States, protected by the might of the US Government, or at any rate those elements of it uninvolved with the Blackbriar conspiracy. But to convince her of that...was a different matter entirely.

He remained quiet, pondering the situation, when Nicky broke the awkward silence that had sprung up again between them. "Jason", she said.

He almost neglected to react to the use of his former name, something which hadn't escaped Nicky. "You know", she said after a brief pause, "You're acting as...inscrutable...as you were back when we first met, in Paris". She stared into his face as she said this. It was likely, as David surmised from the curious expression on her face, she had expected a look of be confusion on his face, but was instead surprised to find one of comprehension instead.

For his part, David wasn't exactly sure how things stood between them, given his changed circumstances vis a vi his memory. From his point of view, from the recent past, she had been a part of the organisation which had hunted him and then one of the few rays of hope in his shadow world, when she had walked away from the insidious activities of her superiors with barely a glance back. Now however, he remembered that there had been a time, before all of that, before he had held a gun to her head and threatened to kill her if she refused to answer his questions honestly, when they had been, if not friends, then at the very least, companions. And he wasn't sure how to cope with the sudden whiplash he felt with his restored memories of her. How should he react to her when, overnight, she had been transformed back into an entirely different person in his mind?

But then the answer to that particular problem hit him. _Why not just TELL her?_ After all, he didn't have to hide _everything _from her. On the contrary, considering that she had nearly died for him, he owed her, at the very least, the truth. So, he took a deep breath, and dropped the bombshell...

"I remember, Nicky. I remember everything"

For ten seconds, her face remained as it was. It probably took her that long to process the startling information she had heard. And then, slowly but surely, came her immediate reaction. Her eyes widened. Suddenly she seemed unsure of herself, unsure of her immediate situation.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, she said one word. "How?"

So he told her. Told her about SRD and Hirsch and the memories that had erupted from his sub-consciousness during that confrontation. He told her about the vivid images of the tank and the black hood pulled over his face, the feeling of nausea and suffocation, the experience of a soldier broken down bit by bit and reshaped into a conscienceless machine who unhesitatingly shot two bullets into the chest of a man he didn't know for reasons he would never be told. She listened in horror as he related the story of the creation of Jason Bourne and the moment of clarity when he realised that at long last, he knew _everything_.

"Oh my God...you have to understand, I never knew. Daniels told me about the behaviour modification, but I had no idea it was this bad. I..." Nicky began, but David cut in with a reassuring tone, "It's okay Nicky...it isn't any of your fault. None of it. It's theirs and theirs alone". He paused and added, "Besides, you did...help. Or at least try to. Back in Paris. Those meetings in your apartment after the reporting sessions were...a 'comfort'...probably the only one in my life."

Nicky winced a little as the realisation of the fact that he remembered everything about those faraway days in Paris hit her once more. "It...it was difficult for me...", he said, repeating the words she had spoken in Madrid weeks ago. "I had to get to know the assets to understand them in order to evaluate them...but it was difficult to get to know people who...who were so...I guess 'mechanical' is as good a word as any. You need to understand, it was difficult being in the same room with a man who had been trained to break necks as easily as breaking a toothpick, and probably wouldn't feel a thing about it afterwards. But with you it was...different."

"In what way?" David asked. Although he knew everything about his past now, he was curious to know what had shaped _her _attitude towards him, something he had never known even back then.

"Well, it was the headaches that gave me the hint. You remember the day you first told me about the headaches don't you? That they were the worst immediately after the missions?" she asked.

He didn't tell her that he'd just been thinking about it just before he came her, but simply nodded.

"Well, that was when I realised...the other assets had them too, but they were never as bad as yours. The medication seemed to work for them. But it never completely worked for you. And that's when I started to suspect that while your symptoms were physical, their cause were very likely psychological. I believed, or at least I wanted to believe, that somewhere deep down in your subconscious mind, you couldn't take it anymore. You simply couldn't live with the fact that you killed in cold blood, even if you didn't want to admit it to yourself. A part of you couldn't live with what you had become and was eternally in conflict with your training, your conditioning, your own deep commitment to the program. This schism in your mind...was what caused your headaches, Jason. And they were at their worst after the missions...because the missions were the stimulus for them", Nicky said.

David remained silent as she said this. When she had finished he reflected on her words. Deep down inside, he knew there was truth in what she had said and it was...heartening...to say the least. Heartening to know that even when he had been a cold blooded killer...an assassin...he'd had a shred of a conscience. He'd always rued the headaches...the terrible headaches which almost disoriented him on occasion...now, he felt grateful for them. For what they signified; that David Webb had never been completely destroyed by Hirsch's mind games. That there was still hope left for him yet.

And now, for the first time, he was able to view what happened on that yacht in the Mediterranean in perspective. When he saw his target surrounded by his children, when faced with the dilemma of his commitment to the program and his revulsion to who and what he was, he could live with the schism in his mind no longer. Something had to give way, and it was the steely killer forged by Treadstone who had ultimately lost the battle for his soul that night. Nicky's theory, which he now knew to be true, had given him at least a small measure of the closure he had long desired...not only in terms of his relationship with her, but with regards to his own identity. This meeting with Nicky had given him a better understanding of who he was.

"Jason?" she asked, noticing his silence.

He stared back at her and replied, "You were right, Nicky. About the headaches. About...me."

"It made it easier", Nicky said, "knowing that at least one asset was starting to have the same doubts as I was starting to have. Though it took me longer to realise mine than you did".

"No one can blame you for that, Nicky. You were away from it all. You didn't know what went on in the field. You didn't have to pull the trigger", David said.

"But when everything came out about Abbott's conspiracy, and I realised that you'd been framed...I knew I couldn't go on with it any longer. I knew I had to get out. And then _you _came...and I was given a chance...to make things right", Nicky added.

Yes, a chance to make things right, David thought. That's what they all wanted in the end. Landy, Nicky, even him. Perhaps...this would help Nicky make the right decision, at least what he thought was the right decision, with regards to her immediate future...

"Nicky...you need to know, they're still out there. They're still looking for you. Landy uncovered a list of...targets. You're on that list. You need to get out of here, as quick as you can", David said.

"Where to?" Nicky asked.

David sighed, and in an almost pleading tone, said, "Back to the States. Landy's offering you all the protection you can get. You'll be safe there...as an official witness".

He'd tried to put it as simply and succinctly as possible, before she could raise any objectives. He could understand the shock she felt...at being asked to submit herself to the custody of a government whose less savoury agents had, and still were, actively trying to kill her. But he needed her to realise that her chances were far better there than out here in the open...with assets like the one lying dead in a closet just down the street constantly on her tail, always mere minutes away from taking her life.

"It'll be your chance...to set things right. To set them right in a way I never could, Nicky", he paused and added, "I can't always be around to keep you safe. I don't think I'll ever be completely safe, not until this ends. And it'll only end with Vosen and Hirsch's day in court. Your testimony Nicky...can save lives. Not only the lives of potential targets but lives of men...like me. They deserve a second chance Nicky...just like I got. They deserve a chance to get back what Hirsch took from them".

There was another long silence. And then, Nicky replied. "Alright. I'll do it."

David couldn't possibly have been more relieved...and happy...at her decision.

A little over two hours later, all the arrangements had been made. David had spoken to Landy using an encrypted cellphone she'd given him and she had assured him that all was in readiness on her end. They were on the verge of leaving, when Nicky asked him one final question.

"You know, after all these years, I still don't know...who you really are. I never had access to that sort of information. So can you...tell me your name?"

So he replied, with a conviction he now strongly felt, "My name is David".

And she replied, "Hello David".

**A/N: **So there you go. No romance, not even friendship really. Just an attack dog and his handler, though possibly something a bit deeper.

Oh, and fans of the Ludlum novels will recognise my ending lines.


End file.
